


Gasoline and Sunshine Cocktails

by euromagpie



Category: The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Gen, i guess these could all be read as pre-slash, idk man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euromagpie/pseuds/euromagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically various Piper-and-James prompts that I wrote on my tumblr. Not really romantic, at least not right now. Some chapters are vaguely AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mojitos are Always the Answer

“Guess who?” Came a voice that was waaaay too cheerful for the morning sky still being dark. Piper rolled over, pulling his covers over his head.

“Fuck off.”

“Nope, it’s James, how did you not guess that?” James piped up. Piper felt the edge of his mattress shift. He groaned in what he hoped was a pitiful and pointed way.

“Nggg, James it’s four in the morning.” Piper squeezed his eyes closed. He wasn’t going to open them. He wasn’t.

“Is it? I thought it was three. Oh well, I have mojitos.”

Piper opened his eyes.

With a put out sigh he shoved the covers down low enough to peer at his friend, who did, indeed, have a mojito in each hand. Piper knew for a fact they didn’t have the ingredients for them in the flat.

“What- why- how did you climb in here with those in your hands?” He finally settled on, rubbing the grit from his eye. James just grinned.

“How d’you know I climbed in here?”

“’Cause you always do, you looney. Never mind that you have a key to the flat, that’s not adventurous enough for you.” _You should feel bad_ , Piper tried to communicate silently. Unsurprisingly, James didn’t look the least bit sorry.

Placing the mojitos down on Piper’s bedside table, James pushed Piper over to one side of the bed so he could settle down on the other. For a moment Piper entertained the idea of simply pushing his friend on the floor, but decided it was too much effort.

With so much noise a sound effects studio would be jealous, James arranged himself to his satisfaction, having taken over two thirds of the bed. Piper finally gave up on the idea of sleeping, and settled his glasses on his nose.

“Tch, my acrobatics are a trade secret, Pipes. You wouldn’t understand anyway.” James declared, waving his hand extravagantly in the air. The last sentence he spoke in the very snooty manner Piper so despised in his family members.

“…”

“…”

“…Okay _fine_ , I bite. Why are you in my room _at four in the morning_ , with mojitos of all things?” Piper asked reluctantly.

“Weeeelll, amico mio, I come bearing the very hottest of news. One that deserves a toast.”

_That was the least information he could possibly provide while still speaking_ , Piper commented to himself. He _wanted_ to ask who toasted anything with mojitos, but if he kept going off tangents with James his friend would undoubtedly be able to spin the conversation for another hour before giving up the desired information. Besides, he could see James was positively bursting with the need to tell the news, despite his façade.

“What’s the hottest of news?” He asked, making sure to make the question as monotonous as possible.

“LISA’SPREGNANTANDIT’SROSCOE’S.”

Piper blinked.

“Uh…what?” He needed James to run that sentence by him again, because he couldn’t have heard what he thought he hear-

“Roscoe got Lisa pregnant.”

Oh boy.

James was practically cackling at this point. Piper was sure that if they were in a cartoon, James would be rubbing his hands together in glee. Being one who thrived on chaos, this must be like Christmas and Halloween rolled into one, possibly on top of a successful bank robbery pulled off. He couldn’t be happier if the Flash admitted James to be the greatest thief he’d ever met.

Piper, on the other hand, didn’t find it nearly as funny (although he was starting to see the appeal of the mojitos).

“You’re sure?”

If she was, he would have to make sure to think of a way to ease Len into the idea before he found out and destroyed the hideout.

“Yeah, I was there when she told Len.”

Fucking fuck fuck.

Piper ran his hands through his hair.

“How did that go down?” He asked, dreading the answer. He could feel James shaking the mattress as he tried to hold back his laughter. He wasn’t doing a great job, since the quiet cackling was quite obvious in the silent hours of the morning.

“It was like watching a trainwreck, Pipes. Such a disaster, but _hypnotising_. I didn’t even know humans could go so red! And Roscoe! I think he must be related to the Flash, else I don’t know _how_ he dodged Len’s strangehold. You couldn’t script this!”

“Is the hideout still standing?” Frankly, Piper couldn’t care less about Roscoe’s survival rates, but he _did_ care about the hideout – finding abandoned buildings that criminals could hide/live in was surprisingly difficult in Central.

James’ only response was a weird choke-snort hybrid, which Piper took to mean, ‘not substantially enough to still be considered a building’. Damn.

“For once, James, I agree with your ‘trainwreck’ spiel. Is Lisa happy about this, at least?” He felt the need to ask. James gave him a strange look.

“Take a wild stab in the dark; her _boyfriend_ , whom she _adores_ , whom she practically _salivates over_ -“

Piper made a disgusted face at the imagery.

“-is going to be the dad of her kid. This way she gets to play house, _while_ being a criminal, _while_ pissing off Len.”

“AH.” James gave a sudden cry, clapping his hands dramatically over his mouth. He looked at Piper like he’d witness the second coming, and whispered:

“ _Imagine the family Christmases_.”

Piper tried to imagine it.

“Give me the damn mojito.”


	2. James, Trademark

Piper tried to ignore the incessant knocking for as long as possible. Eventually, the knocks arranged themselves into the rhythm of ‘We Will Rock You’ and Piper was forced to send his guest a strained smile before getting up and opening the door.    
A slightly singed James greeted him with a wave and a grin.  
Piper closed the door.

Or he would have, if James hadn’t shoved his foot in the door to stop it closing.  
“Is that any way to treat a friend?” He asked in mock hurt, hand placed delicately over his chest.  
“No, so if I see one of them, I’ll invite them in right away. Good night.” Piper said curtly, trying to urge his unwanted guest away again, to no avail as James simply shoves past him into the hallway anyway.   
“You know what, James, make yourself at home, just come right in, won’t you.” He said, trying to inject as much sarcasm as possible into his voice. He latched the door, frowning as James’ boots left sooty footprints on the carpet. The apartment was a rent, he thought irritably.  
James happily ignored Hartley’s glare with the practice of many years, treading a well-worn path into the apartment kitchen. As Hartley followed him, he shouted through into the other room.  
“Be right back, I just need to fix a clown puncture.”   
“Rude!” James gasped, as he plonked down on one of the painted metal chairs at the table. Hartley was already pulling out the tin first aid kit, grumbling all the while.  
“I don’t see why you need to come by my place every time you get yourself busted up, James. There’s a hospital literally five minutes from here-“  
“-which is full of people begging to arrest me-“  
“-who can’t arrest you without proof.” He finished, fishing antibacterial gel out of the box.  
“Oh but Pipes, you’re always so good to me.”  
James caught the antibacterial gel chucked at his head with barely a flinch. He started applying it to the many cuts up his hands and arms. Probably another rubber chicken exploding before it was meant to, Hartley thought. James continued speaking.  
“So who else is here?”  
“None of your business.”  
“What a strange name. Is it foreign?”  
“To you obviously.” Hartley said with a put out sigh, giving up on keeping James out of his private life. Some might say that even trying to at this point was an exercise in futility, but hope springs eternal and all that.  
“My boyfriend. He’s an architect and his name is James, and no, he’s not a cape, and no, you don’t need to chase him off, and no, I’m not dating him because I secretly want to date you.”  
James shook his head sadly.  
“You know, Pipes, sometimes you really take all the fun out of life.”  
“With you, I doubt that’s possible. Here.” Hartley handed James his tin of plasters. And yes, they were specifically James’ tin of plasters. They were a limited edition Looney Tunes set James had made Piper promise never to use; as if he would. James had insisted that being seen in public with boring civvie plasters would ruin his rep, to which Piper replied that he didn’t even know James had a rep to ruin. The visit had devolved quickly from there on.  
Humming happily, James applied the plasters to some of the deeper cuts, leaving the rest to air. When he’d finished, Piper packed up the set and stashed it under the sink again. About to send his friend on his way, he saw the look on James’ face. At this point, he had translated just about every look James had into English. This one was:  
I want something, and you know what it is, and you don’t want me to have it, but I’m not moving until I do, so you’d better cough up, buddy.  
There were a few seconds of silence. James imagined crickets in the distance.  
“Fine.”

James followed Hartley into the room with a bounce in his step. He was greeted to the sight of a young man with a mop of brown hair idly browsing through a Philip K Dick paperback Hartley had left on the table. The man stood as soon as the two came in, looking from Hartley to James with a bemused smile on his face.  
Hartley grimaced.  
“Babe, this is James, a…friend of mine. Other James, this is my boyfriend.” He introduced them.  
“What the hell, Pipes, why am I Other James. I’m the Original James, TM and everything.” James sound, this time genuinely sounding upset. Hartley just gave him a long-suffering look.  
“James isn’t even your real name, so knock it off.” His tone was final.  
James-the-Architect shrugged.  
“It’s nice to meet you, James, TM and everything.”   
“Hm. Hartley told me you’re an architect?” He inquired, flopping down in the single armchair while Hartley settled down in his previous spot on the other side of the couch, James-the-Architect beside him. James-the-Architect smiled benignly at him.  
“Yes, that’s right. Hartley’s told me…well, nothing about you, actually.”  
“Oh, don’t look so offended, James. There’s hardly a good time to bring up…this.”  
“You just gestured to all of me!” James exclaimed, affronted.  
“I did.” Hartley replied, unremorseful.  
“Honestly, sometimes I don’t know why I bless you with my company, Piper. You’re so cruel to me.” James pretended to wipe tears from his eyes. Piper didn’t look impressed.  
“Neither do I, there’s the door.” He said flatly.   
James happily ignored him, turning back to James-the-Architect.  
“So, have you worked on anything I’d know?” He asked, doubt colouring his tones. James-the-Architect bristled at the mocking tone.  
“Well, I helped design the new wing of the police station.” He replied, pointedly.   
James wasn’t sure whether this was a dig at him, or a genuine answer.  
“Oh? Cells with space, no drafts, screens to stop guards getting a good look at the angle of your dangle? Obviously, I have never tried those things out, but if I did, I would probably say good job!” This time he wasn’t being sarcastic. He was tired of ‘collar matches cuff’ jokes by the guards. Assholes.  
An uncomfortable silence settled. Hartley abruptly stood.  
“Oh, I think I hear responsibilities calling! James, it’s for you.”  
James just pulled a face.  
“If it’s responsibilities, it’s for you Pipes. The last time I had responsibilities it was the 80s and that was just to come out screaming and breathing.”  
“James.”   
“Okay, okay, don’t get your flute in a twist, I’m going. Look, I’m practically gone.” James grumbled, moving himself from the comfortably squishy armchair and stepping into the hallway.  
“Nice to meet you, James-the-Architect. It’s been a blast.” He drawled sarcastically, before he felt a hand grip the back of his shirt and found himself bodily hauled out of the apartment. Hartley glared at him from the doorway.  
“Good. Night.” He snapped, before the door slammed shut.

With a put out sniff, James adjusted his shirt, and walked off the balcony.  
So, Hartley’s new boyfriend was polite, but also had a couple of barbs up his sleeve. He seemed perfect for Hartley.  
Now how to get rid of him.


	3. Hartley is Shanghaid into Babysitting and it will go Horribly

“Tell me, James, how many years have you been an agent?” Hartley asked dryly. He was currently lying with his head off the seat of the sofa, legs dangling on the backrest. He might technically be an adult, but only in public. Switching the mobile to his right side, he just caught the tail end of his friend’s response.  
“-only for a little while. I would have asked Frankie but you know how she is; she broke the washing machine only yesterday, and I’m not sure I trust her with a baby-“  
“-if, theoretically, I accepted your heartfelt plea, how long would you be gone for and where?” He sighed. There was no way to get out of this. If James Giuseppe asked you a favour you might argue for an hour or two but you would always inexplicably find yourself agreeing to TP the mayor’s house at three in the morning. But Hartley wasn’t going down without a fight.  
“I’ll only be in Russia for about three weeks-“  
“THREE WEEKS?” Hartley yelled. A few days he might have been able to deal with, but he wasn’t much of a people person even when they didn’t vomit over you every couple of hours. Never mind saving the baby from falling down stair or whatever, how was Hartley going to keep himself from strangling her for three weeks?  
“No way, James, what if I have things to do?”  
“Do you?”  
“Well, no, but-“  
When Hartley’s response was interrupted, James sounded almost exasperated.  
“C’mon, man, you’d do it if Wally asked you!” He whined.   
“Wally doesn’t have children, you realise?” The effect of Hartley’s raised eyebrow was unfortunately lost across the phone line, but he made up for it by drenching the sentence is seething sarcasm.  
“Yeah, but if he did…”  
“Let’s square; if West did have children, I’m pretty sure he would need help every day to keep them fed, let alone raising them. Looking after children for long periods of time is not my forte, you need to understand this. Arguably, even being in a child’s vicinity is not my forte”.  
“I’ll have you know Cassidy’s very well behaved!” James argued. There was the sound of paper being shuffled in the background, and some sort of liquid being slurped loudly in the distance. Hartley had been to his friend’s FBI office once before, and knew it to be a busy, bustling floor. It took a very confident man to be loudly arguing about babysitting duties in the middle of a bunch of very testosterone jacked men.  
Hartley rubbed his forehead with one hand.  
“Cassidy? I suppose it could have been worse. At least you didn’t call her Sundance”.  
There was a worrying beat of silence on the other end of the phone.  
“Giovanni” Hartley said warningly.  
“It’s only a middle name” James said in defence. Normally, Hartley might have agreed that a middle name wasn’t that important, but considering the importance James placed on middle names, using James instead of his first name Giovanni, he couldn’t help imagining a future where this kid ended up as a 21st century Sundance Kid. And god help them, James would probably encourage her.  
“You know, for a federal agent, your obsession with train robbers is slightly worrying” He muttered.  
“Just because I have to get up at 6 and put on a tie every morning doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to a personality, Hart” James said, sounding put out. He breathed a pointed sigh down the line.  
“Look, the Wall’s calling me. I’ll drop Cassidy and her toys around at yours tomorrow around 9, okay? I’ll see you then”.  
“Wait, James, no-“ The click of the phone cut off Hartley’s loud protests. He took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. The small, flashing ‘disconnected’ text seemed to mock him.  
“Balls” He muttered to his empty apartment.


	4. Are We There Yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ‘A minor villain gets lost with a minor villain.’

 “We _are_ heading in the right direction, I swear.”

“Yeah, you swear and it’s mostly ‘oh fuck’ because you got us _lost_!”

“We’re not lost. We’re-, we’re _creatively orientated_.”

“I’ll ‘creatively orientate’ your head in a minute!”

“Oh Pipes, aren’t you moving a little fast?”

“Why you-“

“Oi!”

Hartley and James were broken up by the gruff shout from the front seat, accompanied by a threatening wave of the cold-gun.

“James, give Hartley the map. We’re already running behind schedule.”

“But-“

“Do it. Now. Otherwise you’re off the job.”

“Tsk.”

Reluctantly, James handed the wide road map over to Hartley. Their current job involved a heist at the Broome Lounge, a high-society snob-hole where patrons of the ‘you-could-hardly-call-it-arts’ gathered for a bi-monthly gossip fest, mainly revolving around sculptures of diamond-studded vegetables of all things. It was an unusual target, but that also meant it was unexpected – with the Flash, any few seconds that they could squeeze out through distraction and diversion could mean the difference between being 20k richer and 20 days in the slammer.

Unfortunately for them, the Broome Lounge also happened to be in the twistiest, most turniest part of town, where a wrong turn can land you instead in a neighbourhood where the locals will have your tires off in a wink. And that’s the _last_ thing they needed at the moment.

Well, correction, the last thing they needed was James’ abysmal map-reading skills, but fools as they were, they’d fallen for his false assurances. So far, they’d passed by ‘NeverLand Toy Company’, ‘Going-Gone Hairdresser’, ‘Two Time Clock Repairs’, ‘Give a Dime Charity’, ‘You and Me Cancer Support Group’ and ‘Up and Away Vintage Car Garage’. Hartley spotting the Rick Astley clues were what had resulted in the threat of cranial rearrangement mentioned.

“You’re holding it the wrong way up.” James murmured.

An indignant noise responded, followed by a cartographic rustle.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m _not_.”

“Are.”

“James have you ever actually _seen_ the Latin alphabet? It generally only works one way around.” Hartley hissed irritably.

“But Carmine River is south of us-“

“No it isn’t. It’s north.”

“Nah. It’s next to the condom factory, y’know-“

“That’s north!”

“No way.”

“Here.”

From the driver’s seat, Mick raised an eyebrow in Len’s direction as an exchange of furious whispers came from the back-seats. He got a sneer and an eye-roll in return, and an almost-telepathic message of ‘Mardon’s a lucky bastard that he can fly’. Technically so could James, but ever since he worked on his boots to leave firework trails behind them, they’d ceased to be the most inconspicuous method of travel out there.

“Take a left!”

Mick cursed and swung the car around in a tight arc, just barely making the turn they’d almost missed. The left wing mirror sadly met its demise, pinging off against the pole of a red ‘STOP’ sign.

“Shut up, Tricks! Mick, we shouldn’t have taken that turn.” Hartley told him.

Suddenly the car ducked into a nearby layby and jerked to a stop. There was a brief moment of silence in the car, the air thick in the small space. It was broken by the rhythmic sound of Mick banging his head against the steering wheel and taking steady breaths.

Was it just Hartley’s imagination or was the air getting hotter?

“Uh-oh. You made Cold turn around in the seat.” James muttered. Hartley frowned at him.

“I-! You’re the one who-“

“Shut up. Shut up, the both of you.” Len growled, the whining of the cold-gun (which James had mentally named ‘Angie’) a high pitched counter to his bass. The muzzle swung around to James. The metal was already being covered by creeping tendrils of ice.

“You. Are probably the most annoying person I’ve ever met, Jesse.”

“Thank-“

“It wasn’t a compliment,” he snapped. “Fortunately for you, you are a necessary man for this job, else I’d freeze you right here and sell you as champagne ice.”

“Yikes.” Hartley whispered out of the corner of his mouth. He flinched as Len’s head twitched towards him. Never the less, Angie didn’t waver from James.

“But I want you to remember this, Jesse. Nobody’s irreplaceable. One more wise-crack outta your mouth on this trip and fuck it, I’ll find someone else to fill in for you or ditch this job altogether, just for the satisfaction of turning you into an arctic lawn ornament. Are we clear?”

Angie seemed to glare at James as the silence stretched.

“Yeah.”

“Are. We. _Clear_.” It wasn’t a question.

James cleared his throat.

“Yes, _sir_.”

“Good. Piper, we have three minutes to get to the site before the plan is beyond fucked. Make it happen.”

“Yes, sir.” Hartley echoed James.

“Good man.” Len said with a cold smile. He turned back to the front, Angie powering down. “Rory, drive.”

“Yes, sir.” Mick had to hold back a laugh as he started the car again.

It was a smooth drive for a minute.

“Hey, look, hookers. Is that Angie with Roscoe there?”

“That’s _it_!”

The car shook.

“YEAUGH!”


End file.
